


threw our shoes into the ocean

by penelopes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penelopes/pseuds/penelopes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam allows Louis to tug him forward. He has to slouch just the slightest bit for Louis, who is already pushing up on the tips of his toes, to wrap his arms around him. Somehow they fit comfortably together. Louis with his face pressed against Liam’s neck, lips moving with a quiet murmur that sounds like I love you I love you miss you love you. Liam’s arms are wrapped around Louis’ torso, trapping Louis against him. He buries his face into Louis’ shoulder and breathes him in—he smells like summer and the sun and a little bit like Liam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	threw our shoes into the ocean

**Author's Note:**

> This is a belated birthday gift to Izy. Happy birthday, I love you, I hope I've not failed you miserably!
> 
> Any mistakes are mine, no one else's.
> 
> Title from Daylight by Matt and Kim.

Liam wakes up with Louis’ face pressed into his neck, his breath hot against his skin, lips a little chapped, probably a little bruised. He’s half on top of him, legs slotted between Liam’s, arms tight around his waist. Liam trails his fingertips up and down Louis’ spine, absentmindedly thinks of how much he’s going to miss this: going to bed with Louis, kissing lazily until they fall asleep, waking up with Louis pressed all against him, warm, going to the market to buy fresh clams, and to the beach for an entire day, watching TV programs on a shitty television, tangled together on the sofa.

He’s definitely going to miss it.

He’s going to miss the way Louis looks when he’s just woken up—disheveled, hair standing up all over his head, mouth in a pout because it’s always _too early, Li_ —so absolutely endearing that it makes something swell in Liam’s chest until he feels like he might suffocate if he doesn’t tell him everything he wants him to know.

Louis shifts just a little, back arching just the slightest under Liam’s fingers, groans a little in his sleep before cuddling up closer to Liam; his lips pressing something like promises to his skin.

Liam wants to fall back asleep, wants these hours with Louis in bed with him, wants to wake up later than usual with Louis kissing him awake. His hand settles on the small of Louis’ back and he pulls him even closer.

He’ll sleep and then he’ll wake up and they’ll have breakfast and tea and maybe go to the beach one last time and Louis will probably kiss the breath out of him when they’re ready to go, bags packed by the door—the summer over.

Liam tries to force himself to stop thinking; to stop thinking about how he much he’ll miss Louis even though he won’t be far away—a train ride really—and the way he tilts his head back as far as it’ll go when he’s laughing at the dinner Liam’s made.

Liam covers his eyes with his free hand, hoping to subdue the thoughts, the inevitable goodbye that’s coming in just a few hours.

Louis’ groan vibrates against Liam’s throat, his voice muffled against skin, “Stop thinking so much,” and Liam can feel every syllable like they’re being burned into his skin, settling deep down in the marrow of his bones.

The thing is—Louis _knows_ Liam. He knows that he overanalyzes and worries himself sick and he’s kind and beautiful and intelligent and too good of a person. He knows how he sleeps and how he takes his tea, he knows the birthmark on his throat, knows what it feels like against his mouth. He knows how to make Liam fall apart and he knows how to put him back together most of the time; a steady hand on his back when he feels overwhelmed or like he can’t do enough, there’s not enough time, there’s _too_ much.

Sometimes Liam phones him from university in the middle of the night and his voice is shaky and he sounds so fucking _sad_. The sound of Liam’s voice causes something to tip over and spill inside of him, burning his insides, making him hurt. He _hates_ when Liam is sad; needs to fix it.

Liam tells him about his finals and how stressed he is and that the coffee shop wants him to work extra shifts but he _can’t_ because he needs to study but he does it anyway because he doesn’t want to let them down and he’s _tired_ and _I feel like I never get to talk to you, Lou, I miss you so much. I miss my mom, my family—I just,_ and then his voice breaks off into a strangled noise like he might be crying.

Louis imagines him lying on his bed, alone in his flat, fist to his mouth so he no one can hear him cry. His heart _breaks_ because he misses him so much too and he wants to see him and console him and tell him everything’s going to be all right, wants to kiss him all over and show how much he loves and appreciates him, wants to make him _better._

“ _Li,_ ” he starts, his voice soft and a little strangled too and he doesn’t think he can do this, doesn’t think he can make this one better because he’s three hours away and it’d be so much easier if they were at the same university. “Everything will be okay,” he winces at his words as they leave his mouth because they sound so mediocre and stale; something borrowed.

“You’re going to do great on your finals—you always do. Take a break from studying, tell Paul he can find someone else to cover shifts, clear your mind, and _don’t worry._ I love you; I miss you,” he hears the crack in his voice, “ _so, so, so_ much.”

And then Liam says the one thing that knocks the breath out of him and he’s so fucking sad and he can’t make this better, but _needs_ to—somehow, “I just wish you were here with me, Lou. Nothing’s working out properly.” Louis hears the tears in his voice, ripping from his throat, knows his eyes must be red and thinks oddly how pretty Liam is when he cries, but he _shouldn’t_ be crying, he _shouldn’t_ feel so sad and overwhelmed. Liam should never not be happy and getting everything he wants.

Louis does well at picking up the pieces when Liam falls apart, but sometimes he stutters and trips, falls, has to pick himself up along the way, but he _tries._ He tries to make Liam happy and better and wholesome again.

He just repeats a mantra of _I love you, I miss you, I’m right_ here _, Liam_ until Liam’s sobs subside into a string of hiccups and pitiful sounds from the back of his throat. Louis would like to kiss him until he can’t breathe. But he can’t, so he just keeps repeating the words over and over again until he can hear Liam’s steady breathing that means he’s fallen asleep.

Liam chuckles throatily, “How did you know?”

“I know you,” Louis says simply, lips still dancing over the skin of Liam’s neck because he hasn’t pulled back to look at him properly yet. “Just stop thinking—sleep, instead,” he says as he finally does pull back to look at Liam; his hair a disarray, eyes barely open, mouth pulled down in a pout.

Liam sighs heavily, tucks his fingers underneath Louis’ shirt at the small of his back, and runs his fingertips over the knobs of his spine, smiles like he’s won something when Louis shivers against him. “Just don’t want it to be over, you know,” he says with a hint of despair and sadness.

Louis props his head up on Liam’s chest, stares at him until he stares back. There’s a sad smile on his lips and he really does want to go back to sleep because this is the last time he’ll be able to sleep next to Liam for a while and he just wants to cherish the small things. Like sleeping with him, waking up beside him, kissing the breath from his lungs. “Kiss me,” he says suddenly, toes nudging at Liam’s calf, fingers pressing into his waist where his shirt has ridden up. “Just kiss me,” he says a little breathlessly. Because he gets it. Because he wants to, and he wants to sleep, and he just wants Liam. He _wants._

Liam complies because he always does what Louis wants, can’t really tell him no, doesn’t ever want to tell him he can’t have what he wants. The kiss is soft and slow and mostly just a press of his lips to Louis’ barely chapped lips. He runs his tongue along the seam of Louis’ mouth before pulling away slowly.

“Tease,” Louis chuckles against him. Something warm spreads through Liam’s body, something familiar and good and _right_.

He falls asleep with Louis’ face tucked in the crook of his neck, Louis’ fingers pressed against his waist, and Louis’ legs tangled with his. Everything is _Louis._

*

It’s Louis’ idea, really, and it’s one of the few that Liam is completely on board with.

They’re on Skype on one of their breaks from studying for finals when Louis brings it up. There’s a beach house that his uncle isn’t using this summer—a cottage, really, just big enough for two people comfortably—in a small sea town down south where the saltwater taffy from the local market melts sweetly in your mouth.

“The entire summer, Li,” he’s excited; his nose scrunching up like it does so often and the connection lags a little, but Liam can still see it, “just you and me, no interruptions. We can go to the beach every day or stay inside every day and you can be as loud as you want because no one will be there.”

“ _Lou,_ ” he chastises, looking around his shared flat even though he’s positive he’s alone, “I’m not—I don’t,” he blubbers out, but clearly fails to make his point because Louis is laughing hard on the screen and it sounds so good—maybe it’s Liam’s favorite sound—and all he wants to do is keep him laughing every day for the rest of his life.

And _wow,_ he thinks, _the rest of his life_. He’s never thought about that and it’s scary, but it’s _Louis_ and what is he doing with him if he doesn’t plan on having it forever? He can’t really think of any other way he wants to spend his life, or his summer.

Louis is still laughing when Liam gathers his thoughts and begins to pay attention to the screen. Louis is actually making noises that sound like moans and groans mixed in with his laughter like he’s imitating Liam. Liam blushes so deeply, “Lou, please, would you—”

But Louis continues to mock him exaggeratedly, “’ _Oh, Lou, yeah—just right—oh!’”_ Liam is so close to ending the call. How does he even put up with Louis? _Why?_

“Remind me again why I’m going to spend the summer with you? Why do I put up with you?” His voice is fond because it is always fond when it comes to Louis. He really doesn’t know why he puts up with him, but doesn’t really want to _not_ put up with it.

Louis stops abruptly, a small chuckle still slipping past his lips. “You _love_ me; that’s why you put up with me. This summer is going to be _amazing_. You’re going to have the best sex you’ve ever had,” he says with a smirk.

“Louis, _please_ ,” he starts.

“Morning sex, afternoon sex, we’re-alone-so-lets-have-sex sex, we-successfully-made-dinner sex. We can even try that new thing I read in this magazine, something about me fli—”

“I’m hanging up now. Love you,” he says over Louis’ detailed description of sexual positions. His flat mate could walk in at any moment and how would he explain this. He’s a blundering mess as it is, he certainly does not need anyone to know about what he and Louis do in the bedroom, _god._

He hangs up and only feels a little bad about it; imagines Louis’ pouty face and exasperated huffing and he’ll probably receive a strongly worded text message within minutes—Louis is so very dramatic.

He sighs, and pulls out his phone, types out a quick message before Louis can send him one.

_dnt b madddddd i love youuu_

Louis texts him back eight sad faces, one at a time, and Liam couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off his face even if he tried.

*

The taffy does melt in Liam’s mouth, leaving a trace of raspberry on his tongue. Louis sighs satisfactorily when he licks into Liam’s mouth and pulls away with the taste on his own tongue. He pops a kiss on Liam’s lips quickly before strolling out of the shop with Liam dragging behind, their hands entwined.

They visit all of the shops and Louis makes Liam try on the most ridiculous of sunglasses and sneaks into the dressing room with Liam as he tries on the hideous shirt Louis picked out.

He pulls the curtain back and actually _giggles_ when he sees the look on Liam’s face as he tries to pull the shirt on; his eyes are wide like he’s just been caught or, you know, walked in on in the dressing room by someone (even though it’s Louis, it doesn’t matter, it could have been anyone, Liam tries to reason).

“Lou, you can’t be in here,” He hisses in slight panic, but Louis ignores the warning, rakes his fingertips up and down the exposed skin of Liam’s stomach, a wicked smirk on his face. “Oh, calm down, no one’s going to say anything,” he says with a flashy grin as his hands inch lower and lower.

Liam grabs his wrists in one hand, tiny and frail; he’ll probably leave bruises, but Louis doesn’t too much mind. He can always trace the bones of his wrists with his fingertips and remember _Liam_ with clarity.

Liam tries to push Louis away but _not really_ because Louis is nipping at the veins of Liam’s neck and it’s distracting and it feels good and he can’t help himself if he moans a little and loosens his grip on Louis’ wrist, can’t help it entirely if he pushes Louis’ hands down a little farther even.

Louis’ stubble rubs against Liam’s neck and face as he trails open mouth kisses up Liam’s jaw and across his cheek to his mouth. He licks into Liam’s mouth until he’s pulling a low moan from the back of his throat. Liam’s hands fall on either side of Louis’ face, tilting it back so he can properly lick back into Louis’ mouth, his tongue running over the roof of his mouth.

The kiss is startled when Louis’ hand slips into his trousers, cupping the bulge in Liam’s pants where he’s already half-hard; just from kissing, he thinks. Liam doesn’t even know when Louis undid his trousers, doesn’t remember, but it’s happened and Louis has his mouth slanted back over Liam’s and he’s moving his palm in circles over the head of Liam’s dick through his boxers and it elicits another moan from Liam; his voice already sounding wrecked.

“Louis,” he tries to find his composure, tries to think of anything other than way he’s trying to stop from rutting up against Louis’ palm, but his words get lost somewhere in the kiss. His fingers are tucked into the hair at the nape of Louis’ neck, kneading and pulling each time Louis switches up the rhythm of his hand. Then Louis has his other hand pulling at the waistband of Liam’s boxers, inching them down and Liam has his eyes shut tight, lips bruising from the pressure of Louis’ against his, Louis’ teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

Louis pulls away suddenly, making Liam open his eyes, a small gasp escaping his mouth at the loss of contact. But then he looks down and Louis is on his fucking knees, lips red and swollen from kissing, and he looks up at Liam, catches his eye as he takes him in his mouth.

Liam _does not_ moan and his knees do not suddenly feel so weak that he has to brace his hand on the wall. But, _fuck_ , if he has not missed Louis’ mouth and his tongue and the way he takes Liam all the way until Liam can feel the back of Louis’ throat. He wraps his fist around the base of Liam’s cock and pumps in a rhythm that matches the way he bobs his head.

His dick hasn’t had any attention other than his right hand for far too long and he’s missed the way Louis looks up at him through hooded eyes, completely blissed out and getting off on getting Liam off. He can see Louis palming at his dick as the zipper of his trousers presses against it uncomfortably. That’s one of the things he loves so much about Louis—how he loves doing this for Liam and gets off on it, does it for _both_ of them.

Liam’s eyes slip closed and his head falls back against the wall when Louis runs his tongue over the underside of Liam’s cock, swirls around the thickness, cheeks hollow, spit glistening at the corners of his mouth—just the way Liam loves it.

He knows he’s close, his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, and it will only take a flick of Louis’ wrist this way, the touch of the head of Liam’s dick against Louis’ cheek and he’s going to come.

Louis keeps a steady pace and he moans around Liam, something strangled and so fucking hot that Liam opens his eyes just to stare down at Louis. He’s _beautiful_ this way—his mouth stretched around Liam’s cock, eyes glassy and hooded, cheeks hollowing—

“Lou,” he starts, voice completely wrecked, his entire body on fire and hyperaware of the pressure of the hand at the base of his cock, “’m close, Lou, _so close_ ,” he manages to bite out around a moan.

Louis doesn’t pull away, though. He only picks up the pace, swirling his tongue and mouthing at the head, before he’s taking Liam completely, moans slipping out of his mouth as he palms where he’s hard in his pants and that—that does it for Liam and he comes; Louis swallowing around him without a problem. Like he enjoys it, even, and he probably does. Somewhere in Liam’s hazy mind he thinks, _fuck._

Louis pulls off with a slick, wet pop and licks his lips obscenely before he’s standing up and pressing himself flush against Liam, who slumps back against the wall, knees a little more than weak, something spreading throughout his body making him incredibly warm and suddenly tired, but _good._

His eyes open slowly when he feels Louis mouthing at his birthmark, trailing kisses up and down the column of his neck. He can feel Louis hard against him. Louis’ fingertips are running up and down his sides, tickling over his ribs. He’s oversensitive and warm and he can feel every searing kiss left on his neck. Louis pulls away and Liam gets a good look at him. He looks _wrecked_ ; mouth red and swollen, lips red and shiny.

Liam has his hand on the back of Louis’ neck and he’s pulling him in for a heated kiss, can taste himself when he licks into the seam of Louis’ mouth, hot and hurried. He slides one leg between both of Louis’, thigh pressing against his dick, ripping a strangled breath from the back of Louis’ throat.

His jeans are unzipped, but that’s as far as Louis got. Liam slides one hand between them while simultaneously kissing the breath from Louis’ lungs. He gets into Louis’ pants quickly enough, palm rubbing against the head of his cock where it’s wet with precome. He feels Louis writhe against him, pulling his mouth away so that he can press kisses to the place where Liam’s neck and shoulder meet; his lips feel like they leave a burning trail on Liam’s skin.

He wraps his long fingers around Louis, squeezes at the base before he starts a steady rhythm, one that’s quick and a little rough just the way Louis likes it when he’s so close; Liam can tell by the way he keeps letting out breathy little gasps against Liam’s skin.

Liam pumps steadily, twisting a little on the down stroke, eliciting a hiss from Louis that definitely means he’s close. The “Li,” he murmurs against his skin only confirms it. Liam pumps and squeezes one last time before Louis is coming all over Liam’s fist.

He pulls his hand away and starts to rest it against Louis’ stomach, but doesn’t want to get him messy. Louis grabs Liam’s shirt off of the bench and cleans his hand and himself. Liam begins to protest because that’s _his_ shirt and now he’s definitely going to have to buy the ridiculous one he has rucked up under his arms.

He sighs, doesn’t really think he can do anything about it anyway, and Louis’ peppering kisses to the line of his jaw, so that makes it okay. Louis always seems to make things okay.

There are voices outside of the dressing room and some shuffling and it’s only then that Liam remembers that _they are in a dressing room in a clothing store and they could be walked in on at any moment with their pants down_. He almost chokes and then shuffles quickly, pushing Louis away, mumbling something as he tries to pull his pants and trousers back up while also pulling Louis’ up.

“Oh god, oh god, oh _god._ ” He repeats, zipping up his trousers. “Lou, oh _god_ , we’re _awful_ , pull your pants up, _button_ them, Louis, _fuck_.” He’s panicking and Louis has to stifle the laughter that tries to escape.

“I cannot believe that we just did that in _public_. That was public indecency, oh _god._ ” Liam looks horrified and embarrassed and really all Louis wants to do is kiss his face until he calms down. So he, of course, does.

They finally fall out from behind the curtain a couple of minutes later and Liam has bright red marks on his neck and Louis is giggling, trying to hide Liam’s messy shirt. Liam thinks it’s six different kinds of embarrassing and not to mention gross, but Louis had said something about it being a memento. Liam had rolled his eyes and pulled Louis out of the store, placing notes on the counter that will hopefully cover the cost of the shirt, and avoiding eye contact with everyone.

He pulls Louis down three different streets until they finally make it back to the cottage and he’s still flushing with embarrassment and Louis doesn’t get it because they didn’t get caught, but Liam looks quite adorable with a flush spreading across his chest, so he pushes him against the door as soon as they’re inside and kisses him to make him feel better. He also promises that he won’t suck him off in a dressing room ever again, but it was on his bucket list, _so._

Liam shakes his head in disapproval because Louis can be so _wrong_ sometimes, but, he loves him anyway.

*

There is a day near the end of June that is a complete overcast; dreary and grey. There’s a breeze that comes off of the sea, creeping in through the window panes, and chilling them to the bone.

Louis is bundled up in a mess of blankets on the sofa watching _Doctor Who_ reruns, feet sticking out at the end, toes ice cold. Liam is bringing tea. Louis bends his legs to allow Liam to sit in the space at the other end of the sofa. He digs his toes under Liam’s thigh for warmth, sips at the tea Liam offers him. It’s hot, the steam coming off in waves, hitting against his face, spreading warmth throughout his chest when he sips it.

Liam’s hand rests around one of Louis’ ankles, thumb pressing against the bone that juts out. He drinks his tea silently, watching the program he doesn’t understand, but apparently Louis does because Liam can hear the small grunts he releases or he catches him rolling his eyes, choking up a little at some parts. When this happens, Liam presses his fingers into Louis’ skin, squeezes his ankle affectionately, giving him his warmest smile.

After they’ve finished their tea, Liam ends up slumped against Louis’ legs, face pressed against his knees, his own legs drawn up underneath him on the sofa. There are at least three blankets between them, but Louis can still feel Liam’s body heat, can feel every point where their skin touches, sending a lazy shock throughout his body.

It happens quite often, actually. Every time Louis is near Liam, can touch him, can kiss him, can feel his fingers pressed against the nape of his neck, something courses throughout his body—something like electricity and warmth and fondness. He can’t remember a time when he looked at Liam and didn’t feel something funny and fuzzy wrap around his heart and twist and pull.

They spend the entire day in a bundle on the sofa, exchanging lazy kisses, Louis hogging the blankets, Liam falling in and out of sleep with his head pressed in the crook of Louis’ neck. It’s normal and familiar and Louis could spend the rest of his life this way—wrapped up in Liam—and he would be completely content, he’d be happy.

*

If Liam doesn’t think about the end of the summer, then it won’t come. It won’t sneak up on them; he and Louis will have the sun and the freedom and all the saltwater taffy they want. He’ll call his mother once a week and send postcards. The summer won’t end until they want it to end. And if they never do, then well, it _won’t._

But they can’t very well ignore it either—Liam’s not that naïve.

They don’t have much time left, but they do still _have_ time. That’s what matters. He can teach Louis to fish, and cook a proper dinner, wake Louis up in the middle of the night simply because he wants to and he can and Louis won’t mind.

They have time to be together and love each other; to add up all of the days and the kisses the _l love you_ ’s the memories until they have enough to last them when they get back to the real world where they’re a three hour train ride away from each other.

*

There’s a fair in the middle of July.

Louis tangles his hand with Liam’s, swings them back and forth in the space between them. It smells like candy apples and cotton candy mixed with a little salt from the sea. The lights are bright—a little blinding when Liam stands underneath them to win Louis a giant stuffed lion—and there’s the distinct sound of children screaming from the top of the Ferris wheel.

It’s a warm evening, the sun setting on the horizon. The dimming light from the sun and the artificial light from the booths do something incredible to Louis’ face, Liam notices. Lighting up the contours of his face; his jawline prominent, and his cheek bones high, something crystal in his eyes—Liam thinks they’re clearer than the sea right now. Louis sort of glows too and Liam’s always thought that, but something about the light reflecting off the irises of his eyes steals Liam’s breath away whenever he chances to look over at him. His hair is a golden color that turns darker as the sky does, his fringe swept across his forehead, styled messily, but perfectly. Liam sighs, curls his fingers tighter around Louis’, and tugs him into a languid kiss.

Louis taste like the last remnants of cotton candy and tea. He hums against Liam’s mouth, pulling away with a smile that’s so honest that something pools in the bottom of Liam’s stomach; desire and want and need and love and _how did I get so lucky._

“Love you,” he says against Louis’ mouth as he pulls him up for another kiss. He releases a contented sigh when Louis pets at the back of his head, tangling his fingers in the hair there.

“Love you, too,” Louis murmurs against his lips, letting the words slip into Liam’s mouth; he swallows them up.

On the Ferris wheel later, when the sky is pitch black, the artificial lights illuminating it into something it’s really not, Louis nestles his face into the space where Liam’s neck and shoulder meet. He presses his lips to his skin, warm and soft; maybe he murmurs something but it’s unintelligible and probably unimportant. Liam’s head is resting against the side of Louis’, one hand resting between Louis’ thighs, fingers tucking to the underside.

Both of Louis’ arms are wrapped around one of Liam’s, his fingernails trailing up and down Liam’s arm, creating chill bumps. They don’t stop at the top like the cliché Louis joked about as they stood in line. They stop halfway to the top, a terrible view of the creaking, rusting machinery in front of them. They both laugh breathlessly at that, Louis’ laugh reverberating throughout Liam’s entire body.

Louis still leans up and kisses Liam hard and long; a kiss that takes Liam’s breath away. He pulls away just enough to rest their foreheads together, breath a little ragged. He squeezes Louis’ thigh with each breath he takes, making Louis squirm beneath his hand and bring his legs together so Liam’s hand is trapped there.

By the time they get off the ride, their lips are red and swollen and Liam can taste cotton candy on his own tongue.

*

Liam remembers the day Louis left for university.

He’s standing on the curb outside of Louis’ house, arms folded over his chest, watching as Louis puts the last box in his car. Louis sighs and slowly walks over to Liam. Sometimes Louis is so very hard to read—Liam was never really good at figuring him out before. But, now, he knows that the way Louis squints his eyes means that he’s trying not to cry, wants to stave off the tears. He knows that when Louis tilts his head to look up at him—the sun big and bright behind Liam—it’s out of complete fondness. He knows that when Louis tugs on his crossed arms until Liam’s hands are tangled with his, it means that Louis will miss him too.

Liam _knows_ Louis, now. After all the years they’ve spent together, mapping out every part of each other with their mouths and their hands and scattered breaths. Liam knows Louis down to the way he pulls a face when he wants something, smirks when he’s got an idea, smiles when he’s truly happy.

Louis fits comfortably in a space in Liam’s chest nestled next to his lungs and his heart so that every time he breathes he’s reminded of Louis and how much he loves him.

Liam allows Louis to tug him forward. He has to slouch just the slightest bit for Louis, who is already pushing up on the tips of his toes, to wrap his arms around him. Somehow they fit comfortably together. Louis with his face pressed against Liam’s neck, lips moving with a quiet murmur that sounds like _I love you I love you miss you love you_. Liam’s arms are wrapped around Louis’ torso, trapping Louis against him. He buries his face into Louis’ shoulder and breathes him in—he smells like summer and the sun and a little bit like Liam.

“Gonna miss you so much, Lou,” he says into the fabric of Louis’ shirt; his voice soft with a little bit of a tear in it. He feels Louis sigh against him, strangled and elongated.

“Gonna miss you too, Li. Gonna Skype every day.” _Please don’t forget me, please don’t move on, please don’t ever stop loving me_ , he doesn’t say because he thinks Liam already understands and feels the same way.

“I’ll even text you during lectures,” Liam says with a smile in his voice, but it only gets tangled against Louis’ shoulder.

“Look at what I’ve done. I’ve _corrupted_ you,” replies Louis as he pulls away with a teasing smirk on his face.

Liam smiles down at him, “anything for you, Louis,” he says accompanied by an eye roll. But it’s also true. Liam will do anything for Louis. It’s always been that way—for as long as Liam can remember he’s always loved Louis, has always been willing to do anything for Louis.

It’s the way they work. Liam reminds Louis to write his English paper, to add an extra spoonful of sugar to his tea, to actually go to class. Liam was the one who pushed Louis to apply to uni in London, the one who sat beside him and held his hand when he opened the letter that told him whether he was accepted or not, the one who gave him a celebratory blowjob when he _was_ accepted to uni; _So good, Lou, so proud of you_ he’d said every time he pulled away from Louis’ cock, looking up at him through hooded eyes.

Louis threaded his fingers through Liam’s hair, an overwhelming feeling of fondness pooling in his stomach, mixing in with his orgasm, and before he could even think, he was coming. Liam hadn’t moved, just swallowed down around him, taking it in stride, kissing the corner of Louis’ mouth after he made his way back up his body.

Liam’s caring and sensible about _almost_ everything. He has this part of him that wants to be a teenager; a part of him that is fun, a part that loves to prove people wrong. And Louis—loud and exuberant Louis—helps him. He’s dangerous where Liam is cautious, crass where Liam is overly polite, a permanent buzz of electricity that runs through his body while Liam is calm and reserved.

But _they work—_ opposites attract. Liam reminds Louis about that English paper, and Louis convinces Liam that the world isn’t going to end if he goes to just one party and gets drunk off his face. They are up and down, but somehow they balance each other out and overlap a little in between.

Because Louis is caring and he’s beautiful and he only wants to have a laugh—wants everyone to be happy, wants everyone to smile, loves his family so much that something pulls tight in Liam’s chest when he watches Louis with his sisters. Louis is _beautiful_ even when he’s ugly and cruel.

And he can be cruel, Liam knows. Even when he’s completely unaware of it—a scathing remark, a tease that goes too far, splitting Liam’s bottom lip with his teeth during a kiss. He’s cruel and harsh and beautiful and he loves with everything inside of him.

Liam knows without a doubt that that’s why he loves him so much—because Louis loves him despite his faults, loves _himself_ despite his own faults—he _loves_.

Louis smiles back up at him, bright like the sun, and Liam’s going to miss this—he’s going to miss Louis so much, thinks something cliché like he won’t be able to breathe properly without him.

He presses his lips to Louis’, softly at first and then harder when Louis runs his thumb in circles over the jut of Liam’s jaw.

They finally pull apart, both breathless. Louis doesn’t say goodbye, just rests his head against Liam’s chest and murmurs _love you love you love you_ until his throat feels raw.

*

Liam would like to have this forever—Louis laid out for him, a pillow under his hip, his legs spread obscenely wide, as he wriggles back against Liam’s hand. There’s a curse that falls from his mouth when Liam crooks his first two fingers just right, rubbing against Louis’ prostate.

Louis’ head is pressing back into the pillow behind his head; his eyes closed tightly, pleasure etched into every part of his face. Liam averts his gaze from his face, looks down at the way his fingers disappear inside of Louis. He’s achingly hard against his stomach, thinks Louis looks fucking beautiful all laid out in front of him, and could they both come from just this?

Liam looks back up. Louis now has his hand wrapped around his cock and he’s pumping his fist, sliding precome down his length, twisting his hand just the slightest bit on the down stroke. Liam feels Louis clench around his fingers again and he knows he’s so close. He pushes in and crooks his fingers in time with the hand Louis has around his cock and soon enough Louis is coming, unintelligible groans falling from his mouth. But Liam knows Louis, knows it’s his name he keeps saying again and again.

Louis spurts come all over his fist and Liam watches, runs his fingers against his prostate a couple of times until Louis’ coming down, oversensitive and hyperaware of the fingers Liam still has in him. He wriggles against his hand until Liam’s pulling out.

And then Liam’s painstakingly aware of how hard he is, so hard that it fucking hurts. Louis’ always so beautiful with Liam’s fingers or his cock inside of him, but if anything—Liam thinks he’s probably the prettiest when his lips are stretched around Liam’s cock, swallowing around him.

“Lou,” he says, pressing his fingers into Louis’ thighs, trying to get his attention that _hey, I’m still here, I’m still hard as fuck_.

Then suddenly Louis is pulling Liam down beside him, rolling over him until he is straddling his thighs, his hands splayed out over Liam’s hips, smearing come all over his skin. Liam’s too hard and focused on Louis’ lips trailing down his chest to even begin to _try_ to be bothered by that.

Louis’ tongue darts out and over the small hairs that lead down from Liam’s navel. Liam involuntarily shudders and is suddenly very aware of Louis’ tongue and his blunt nails digging into the skin of his hips, feels the intimacy of the moment as Louis hums as his mouth trails down until he has the head of Liam’s cock between in his lips.

Liam shudders, his fingers tightening in the sheet, making the conscious effort to _not_ push up into Louis’ mouth when he’s almost as far as he can go. Louis does so well at this, fucking enjoys the way he gags a little when he swallows around Liam, eyes watering at the corners, uses technique and enthusiasm until Liam’s falling apart, one hand tangled in Louis’ head, pushing him down on his cock until he’s fucking slowly into his mouth. Louis hums _encouragingly,_ swallows the spurts of come, tonguing at the slit, licking up any of what’s left over. Liam almost loses his fucking mind as he watches through hooded eyes; tired and warm all over.

Louis pulls away with a final kiss to the head of Liam’s cock making Liam whimper because he’s sensitive and warm all over, then he’s crawling up to the top of the bed, cuddling against Liam’s side. He nudges at the side of Liam’s face getting him to turn towards him for a kiss.

It’s languid and soft and Liam can taste himself on Louis’ tongue, releases a pitiful moan because he’ll never get over how it feels to taste himself on Louis, to know that Louis likes the taste too. And if he hadn’t just come, he’s almost positive he’d be at least half hard just at the thought of being the taste on Louis’ tongue.

He does not fucking shiver at the thought, okay. He does _not._

Louis’ hand is still a little messy, as is Liam’s hip and they’re both sweaty and should really properly wash off at some point, but Louis just uses the top sheet to wipe off his hand and Liam’s skin before he drapes it over them and snuggles his face into the crook of Liam’s neck.

Liam doesn’t protest because he’s tired; his body feels weightless and warm, a buzzing that starts in his fingertips and reaches his toes, dissipating somewhere in his body. Louis is warm against him and it should be too much, he should be hot, but he’s not. He’s comfortable and they can always shower in the morning before breakfast. Louis feels so incredibly good pressed against his side; he feels familiar and Liam remembers that he has him for the rest of the summer, the rest of the year, the rest of their lives; he doesn’t have to rush anything.

He can take the time to just sleep cuddled up with Louis, feel his chest rise and fall in sync with his own. He’s got the time to wake Louis up in the morning by flicking his fringe off of his face, or by kissing down his chest, his hand flitting under the sheet at Louis’ waist. He can take his time when he fucks into Louis, slow, familiar, at ease. He’s got the time to love him and worship him.

He and Louis have the summer and that’s all that matters.

He falls asleep soundlessly after that—after listening to Louis’ breathing taper off into a comfortable sleep, his fingers splayed across Liam’s ribs.

*

In the cool breeze that August brings, Liam’s fingers are tangled with Louis’ as they walk to the beach.

The sea is a light blue color that instantly reminds Liam of Louis’ eyes. Louis laughs in Liam’s face good naturedly, his mouth pulling up in a fond smile because of _course_ Liam is the sap who notices the way the waves are the color of Louis’ eyes when he’s excited, light gleaming around the iris, flecks of green and gold scattering when he’s angry or sad—beautiful.

Louis nuzzles his cheek against Liam’s jaw, his eyes closed, with a fond smile on his face as Liam talks. He sounds like poetry from Louis’ English Lit class, dips and pauses, a juxtaposition of light and dark in his voice as he presses the words against Louis’ temple.

Louis sighs, ducks down to drop a kiss against Liam’s neck, _thank you_ , it says. Another one, _I love you_. He kisses until he’s sure he’s left a bruise, Liam talking the entire time, his voice carrying away with the wind at times, but coming back to Louis in bursts and gasps—his lips always a steady pressure against his skin.

*

They’re taking a cab to the train station, then two different trains to different destinations and as Liam looks around the cottage one last time he thinks, _this can’t be it._

The summer’s come and gone and now they’re going straight to uni, having just enough time to settle back into their lives and schedules before classes start and they’re staying up until three a.m. on Skype, Louis kissing the webcam to be cute—and Liam finding it far more adorable than he should—and because he misses him.

The drive to the train station is mostly silent. Louis is leaning back against Liam’s chest, playing with the fingers on the hand that Liam has thrown around Louis’ shoulder. He slots their fingers together and leaves a kiss on each and every one of them—even his—but rests his lips against the back of Liam’s hand to stay.

Liam drops a kiss to the top of Louis’ head three, four, five times whenever he stops looking out the window at the passing fields and sea; the sky meeting the water then disappearing.

He wants to tell Louis how much this summer has meant to him; how familiar it has felt, like every summer they spent together back at home, but somehow _better_ than that. He wants to tell Louis how he thinks he’s learned to love him more and better than before. But he doesn’t know how to articulate that—has never been that great with his words. He’s always been better with his hands— a tight grip on the back of Louis’ neck when they hug to let him know that they somehow belong to each other, a kiss to the corner of Louis’ eye when he wants to be gentle and whisper _beautiful tragic mess_ all over Louis’ skin, _my mess._

So he doesn’t know how to _tell_ Louis that he feels like home and that he never wants to leave, but he hopes that that’s what the summer _showed_ him. He hopes it showed through the way he kissed his way down Louis’ back, drank his tea without any sugar just to appease Louis, woke up and fell asleep with Louis, breathing him until he had settled down deep in Liam’s skin and he couldn’t get rid of him—doesn’t ever want to get rid of him.

He hopes that Louis felt that too. That Louis loves him as much as he loves Louis. He hopes that the summer was enough for Louis, hopes that he wants more too. _Hopes._

“Stop thinking so hard,” Louis mumbles and his voice vibrates against Liam’s hand. “You’re making _my_ head hurt,” he adds with a chuckle.

Liam’s laugh joins Louis’, filling up the backseat of the car. “Sorry,” he says with his lips pressed against Louis’ head again.

When they arrive at the train station, they slowly peel themselves off of each other, falling out of the cab with tired legs and sleepy heads. Louis entwines his fingers with Liam's as they wait for the designated trains to be called.

Liam is supposed to board five minutes after Louis, which is in ten minutes, he discovers when he looks down at his wristwatch. He sighs, pulls Louis to him, feels a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, spreading out like branches on a tree, until his throat is dry and he can’t properly swallow; the knot pressing burning tears behind his eyelids.

Louis fits against Liam like a puzzle piece; comfortably under his arm, face buried in his chest, Liam’s hand on the small of his back. They stay like this for as long as possible, not saying anything because there is nothing more to say except _I love you I love you I love you_. They stay wrapped around each other until Louis’ boarding call.

Liam kisses him before he has to go; a kiss that will probably bruise both their lips, but at least they’ll both remember it. Liam’s thumb runs back and forth over Louis’ cheek as he licks over the seam of his mouth, causing Louis to moan into the kiss.

He kisses him two quick times after they pull away, just a gentle touch of his lips to Louis’, and he can feel Louis’ smile against his—thinks they’re going to be just fine.

They’re going back to uni and they’ll be three hours away from each other. They won’t see each other until autumn break and Liam will get tired and frustrated and he’ll probably take it out on Louis more than he should. Louis will shout and say something he doesn’t mean, but they’ll be _fine_. They will Skype and call and text and maybe Louis will surprise him one weekend when his studies aren’t overwhelming, maybe they’ll spend the weekend locked up in Liam’s flat retracing their steps, their movements, the paths their mouths take on each other’s body.

They will look back on the summer and it will be just like any other, except different and better and they will love each other more for it.

They will be _fine._ They always have been. Liam has every memory he’s ever had with Louis committed to memory. Louis with his soft touches and rough kisses, his smile that challenges the sun, his voice in the morning, the way he loves wholly—everything about him is burnt into Liam’s mind chest heart lungs fingertips.

 He knows they’re going to be okay. He doesn’t want summer to be over, but he knows that it has to be. But he also knows, with everything in him, that they’re okay. If anything proved that, it was the months he spent alone with Louis in a cottage by the sea, eating too much saltwater taffy, watching too many episodes of Doctor Who, smiling, laughing— _living._

Louis leans up and kisses him one last time, trailing a line of quick kisses across his cheek, and placing a final one on the line of his jaw. Liam’s eyes slip closed and he smiles at the gesture.

When he opens them again, Louis is walking away, but Liam can still feel his lips on his skin, a searing kiss that sets his skin on fire, settling underneath it all—into his veins and deep into his bones until he’s feeling dizzy with how much he loves Louis and how much Louis loves him in return.


End file.
